Satan was particularly fresh next morning when Tristram took him for a canter round the Park.

He was glad of it: he required something to work off steam upon.

He was in a mood of restless excitement.

During the three weeks of Zara's absence he had allowed himself to dream into a state of romantic love for her.

He had glossed over in his mind her distant coldness, her frigid adherence to the bare proposition, so that to return to that state of things had come to him as a shock.
But, this morning, he knew he was a fool to have expected anything else.
He was probably a great fool altogether, but he never changed his mind, and was prepared to pay the price of his folly.